Slipping and sliding all over the place.”
“That helps,” said Marshall. “Okay. You know what to do.” There was a tightening
of the tension among the men as the emergency port banged to. From the west the
roar of the powerful scout plane grew momentarily. Then it was blotted out in a
deeper thunder and a lightning-bolt launched itself from the cleared aisle and
swooped up.
“Grab that!” Barret screamed from his tree-top, and his men scurried briefly
with pails of dirt to put out the small blazes which the Icarus had started.
Then they refilled the pails and slipped back into hiding, indistinguishable
from the shadows.
But from what Barret could see, hiding was unnecessary, for the enemy scout was
paying no attention to the ground. The Icarus had shot up past him so fast that
the trim little plane was yawing and rolling madly in a cyclone of disrupted
air. Abruptly its pilot made a hasty, sloppy turn and headed back for the city.
There was an unaccustomed hand on that stick.
Barret grinned in exultant admiration as the Icarus plunged by again, screaming,
and then zoomed in front of it. Again the plane struggled with the warped air
currents, losing altitude, and making frantic efforts to keep out of Marshall’s
way. It was fast, but not fast enough. In a moment the silver meteor was cutting
across its path again, and the auto-rifle fired a short warning burst.
At the sound of the gun the pilot seemed to lose what little courage he had. He
dived frantically under the Icarus as it passed and roared for home. With each